


There Has to be a Lock

by ExpatGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s09e10 Road Trip, Gen, Season 9 Broke Me, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 21:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6536755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpatGirl/pseuds/ExpatGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The seat creaks as Castiel turns to face him. Dean has a key in his hand, bearing a yellowed tag that reads <b>Jenkins</b> in neat, blocky writing. He tears the tag off and holds the key out. “This is for you.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Has to be a Lock

**Author's Note:**

> You can read this as pre-slash if you want. I do. But then, I would, wouldn't I?

Dean gives him a key.

The drive to the pier where Castiel’s car is parked is a fugue of tense silence and the occasional thunderclap. Sam nearly falls from the back seat in his uncoordinated attempt to get out, and Cas turns to watch him as he hobbles his way over to the edge of the water and leans heavily on the railings. If he notices it’s raining, he gives no indication. But then, he’s probably still feverish from the residual Trials illness. Castiel needs to do a thorough assessment so that he can figure out how much work he has to do to heal him. Possession would, of course, be the fastest and cleanest method, but it’s doubtful that Sam would agree to that now. And, selfishly, part of Castiel is saddened at the thought of permanently abandoning this vessel. Still, he’ll ask, and if Sam is willing…

“Yeah, he’s pissed,” Dean interjects, not looking at Sam or Cas, or anything in particular.

“Yes,” Cas agrees. He can’t think of anything else to say. There’s been something like a pervasive headache pressing at him since he took Theo’s grace. It gives everything a dull blue-grey cast and makes it difficult for him to formulate his thoughts sometimes. It’s nothing to worry about, he tells himself, just the effects of the foreign grace attaching itself to him. It'll settle in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, he needs to focus on the task at hand. He moves to get out of the car, but Dean halts him with a touch on his arm.

“Hey, uh,” Dean says, then stops.

The seat creaks as Castiel turns to face him. Dean has a key in his hand, bearing a yellowed tag that reads _Jenkins_ in neat, blocky writing. He tears the tag off and holds the key out. “This is for you.”

It takes a moment for Castiel to work out exactly what Dean’s giving him, but then he understands, and is relieved.  Logistically, it makes sense to let him access the bunker now. He’s regained enough of his powers to be of real use (and the relief of _that_ is almost enough to blot out the acts he had to commit to reach this stage), and having a key means he can get in and out when they need him. Even if they’re ill or injured, unable to reach the door, he can get to them. He’s a backup plan. A failsafe. The sense of relief grows stronger.

This, however, doesn’t explain Dean’s eyes--hot and bright in his otherwise drawn face--as he closes Cas’ hand around the key with both of his. Despite the low hiss of background interference from the stolen grace, Castiel can tell something about this act is significant for Dean, though he’s at a loss about why.

“Alright,” he says, rather than asking for clarification. These last few months have blunted his curiosity, and not even Dean can act as a whetstone. He looks down. Dean’s hands are still clasped around his, the key digging slightly into the flesh of his palm, and Dean’s still watching him. He’s expected to say something else.

Oh. Of course. Every additional point of access increases vulnerability. Dean’s keen looks and intensity begin to make more sense.

 _Ah. It’s an admission of trust_ , Castiel realizes. And an admonition.

“I’ll...I’ll guard it with my life,” Castiel swears, withdrawing his hand and putting the key in his pocket. He will bind it to himself. As long as he inhabits this body, the key will remain in his possession until its rightful owner wants it back.

Dean frowns at this, as though he was hoping Cas would say something else, but nods. “Right, yeah. I get that. Just, uh, you know. Wanted you to have your own key.”

The static roars a little louder. It feels almost hungry for blood. Castiel touches his hand to his temple. He feels Dean looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“Do I,” Dean clears his throat. “Do I have to, I dunno, give some sort of verbal consent?”

“No,” Cas says, bringing himself back to the darkened car, the rain, the watery beam of the street lamps. “The note you left for me will serve. Though I still think leaving the door open was...unwise.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got a reputation to maintain.” He looks at Cas again. His jaw is tight. “I just...I want to make it clear that, you know, you’re welcome. I don’t want there to be any doubt about that, okay?”

“Of course,” Cas says. “The warding will be able to recognize my intentions, anyway. It should be fine.”

Dean’s mouth grows thin, and he closes his eyes for a moment. He looks like he’s in pain, though he’s uninjured, as far as Castiel knows.

“You only have to grant entry once,” he adds quickly. Another realization follows, hard on its heels. “You can revoke it at any time. All you need to say is…”

“I’m not gonna _revoke_ it,” Dean says sharply.

“Okay.” He’ll write down the revocation and put it the angelic lore section, he decides.

Dean scrapes his hand across his face, looks at the ceiling. “I won’t revoke it,” he says again, more softly. Dean turns to him then, and his eyes are like burning coals, piercing the murky pall that’s settled on Cas over the last few days. “Cas, listen, I know this is shitty timing, but maybe when it’s over we can…”

Cas never learns what it is they might do, because at that moment Sam staggers and hunches over the side of the railing, throwing up. “Shit,” Dean says, opening the door.

“Dean, wait. Let me,” Cas says. “Maybe he’ll be in a better place to talk to you when I’ve dealt with some of his injuries.”

“Yeah, okay. You...you do that.” Dean gets out of the car anyway. Castiel feels him watching as he walks towards Sam.

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to overcome my writers block and lingering headache with a 1000-word shot of angst and poor communication.


End file.
